


stress fractures

by feeltripping



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dom Clarke, F/F, Forced Orgasm, Power Dynamics, Spanking, Strap-Ons, Sub Lexa, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 03:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10234610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeltripping/pseuds/feeltripping
Summary: Lexa needs catharsis.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this has not been beta-ed, I will fix typos as I notice them--feel free to let me know of ones I've inevitably missed! please read tags so you know what's going to appear in the fic and won't be upset/displeased by any of it. Thank you.

Lexa wakes Clarke up in the middle of the night. “Clarke,” she whispers. She sounds shaky, and Clarke becomes alert faster than she thought she would. 

“Lexa?” she mumbles, sleep rough. “What’s wrong?”

“Will you pick out my clothes? Tomorrow?” Lexa sounds anxious and Clarke flings an arm over her waist, pulling her closer and smashing her face into Lexa’s back.

“Sure babe. Everything okay?” Lexa is silent. Clarke blinks twice and stirs herself. “Lex?”

“Everything is fine. Goodnight, Clarke.”

She sounds oddly formal and Clarke kisses the back of her neck, her eyes tugging shut. “Bad dream? Go back to sleep, s’okay.”

“Okay,” Lexa says, after a long pause. She sighs, her breath huffing out and rasping on the pillow. 

++

Clarke wakes up with a jerk while Lexa is in the shower. She curses at herself for forgetting to set her alarm and drags herself out to stagger to the closet and daydream about slipping back under the sheets. She thinks about how Lexa woke her and how her fingers almost trembled and the odd cadence of her voice and frowns. She picks out clothes for comfort, things she knows Lexa likes when she’s feeling sick or uncertain, an outfit for confidence. 

She’s dozing on the bed when Lexa comes out smelling like shampoo and soft towels, the hairdryer falling silent and her face only half done up. Clarke watches her fix her makeup in the vanity mirror. “Hey,” she greets cautiously, clearing her throat.

“Hm,” is all Lexa says. She dresses quickly, with none of her usual teasing looks or lingering coy touches. Clarke frowns. 

“You’ll be home for dinner tonight?”

“Maybe.” Lexa is short and clipped and there’s a frown between her eyes. “Don’t wait up.”

Clarke catches her just outside their bedroom door. “Hey. Stop. Talk to me.”

“I’m going to be late.” Lexa hesitates. She kisses Clarke, soft. “It’ll be alright. I’ll be home for dinner.”

++

Clarke wakes up late and watches television in her underwear. She stares at her sketchbook for a while and then shrugs, tipping it to the side. She paints her nails and reads the paperback her mother gave her for Christmas. She orders Thai for dinner, and it’s still hot when Lexa gets home. 

Lexa touches her shoulder on her way through the living room to change, and Clarke slurps up noodles absently, half watching the television. By the time her plate is clean she’s frowning. She puts it aside with a dull clank of heavy glazed porcelain and pads into the bedroom on socked feet. “Lexa?”

Lexa is bent over the vanity, full dressed, one shoe lying on its side a foot from her like she kicked it away. Her arms are braced and her shoulders tensed but her head hangs limp between her elbows and her breathing is ragged. “Clarke,” she greets, low and tight. Her jaw flexes.

Clarke hesitates in the doorway. She pitches her voice low and gentle. “Bad day?”

Lexa exhales. Her fingers tighten on the wooden edge. “Bad week. Turning into a bad month.” She straightens. Takes a deeper breath. “Sorry. I know you’ve been studying, I…” she trails off, looking almost helpless.

Clarke crosses the room in a few strides and tugs Lexa into her, Lexa’s body curving to tuck herself into Clarke’s chest. She noses at Clarke’s neck and breathes soft and shuddery. “Baby,” Clarke murmurs, “I’m never too busy for you.”

She runs a bath and Lexa lets her undress her real slow, tickling Lexa’s ribs and touching the little scars on her hips and the dimples in her back. Cradles Lexa against her and nuzzles under her ear and runs her toes down Lexa’s calves. Lexa is warm and soft and bumps against her under the shower stream while Clarke drains the tub and washes Lexa’s wavy curls, scritching her nails on Lexa’s scalp. “Let me take care of you,” she asks, and Lexa nods, just a little dip of her chin, her eyes fluttering shut. Clarke fingers her gently, arm steadying around Lexa’s waist, her back against the cool tile, until Lexa’s grips her wrist and gasps and shivers. 

She’s mouthy, after they step out of the tub. Licking up Clarke’s throat and nipping at her jaw and suckling Clarke’s skin into her mouth to feel it against her teeth and humming into her collarbones while Clarke wraps her up in a fluffy towel and walks her to the bed. Clarke tucks her under the sheets and Lexa tugs her on top of her, smiling a little into their kiss. “Let me?” Lexa asks, and Clarke pauses.

“This is about you,” she reminds Lexa, but Lexa shakes her head, her damp hair curling into her face. 

“Nothing is about me that isn’t about you,” she says, and Clarke lies propped up against the headboard with her hand over her head, clenched around the rails of their headboard while Lexa slips her tongue inside her and thumbs at her clit until Clarke is gasping and twisting, Lexa’s hand keeping her hips still and her own fingers in Lexa’s hair. 

++

Anya calls her during a forty eight hour shift. She doesn’t leave a voicemail and Clarke has to wait until her break to return her call. Anya picks up on the first ring. “Griffin.”

“Anya,” Clarke says. “You called?”

“Yes,” Anya agrees. She falls silent.

Clarke bites into an apple and munches, feeling wrung out and sleepy in the best way. She’s thinking idly about the donuts that usually appear in the breakroom during the grand rounds. “And…?”

Anya growls. “And this is weird, okay? And I don’t like you.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “I thought we were over this.”

“Never.” Anya sighs, loud and dramatic. “Lexa’s having a rough time. They made her take a personal day.”

Clarke straightens, all thoughts of donuts gone. “Today? Where is she?”

“Here, at the bar.”

Clarke checks her watch. It’s nearly seven in the morning. “You’re open?”

“I’m doing inventory. Lexa’s in a corner booth.”

“I’m off in four hours. She’s drinking?”

Anya hesitates again. “I can’t serve right now, she knows that. But she took a cab here and she smells like that shitty vermouth you like.”

“Fuck you,” Clarke says, without any heat. “Take care of her?”

“Fuck you,” Anya responds, and hangs up.

++

The door is unlocked and Clarke barely raises a hand in greeting to Anya behind the main bar with a clipboard, beelining to the booth in the corner where Lexa is a tousled furious mess. She smells like bourbon. “I thought Anya couldn’t serve you this early.”

Lexa rolls under her skin, seething. “A forced personal day,” she hisses. Her fingers clench so tight into her fist they go white and painful looking. “Fucking---”

Lexa so rarely curses in her work clothes, and when Clarke reaches out to take her hands she jerks away. “Let’s go home,” Clarke coaxes, and Lexa shakes her head, uneven jolting movements. “Lexa.”

“You left early,” Lexa deduces, her eyes narrowing. “You borrowed Lincoln’s car.” The corner of her mouth twists up. “Aren’t you worried the other residents will get a leg up on you while you’re gone?”

Clarke feels the line of her mouth go flat. Lexa is always so careful not to take out her frustrations on Clarke--she’s careful not to drink heavily in public or to let her emotions be seen taking a toll on her, she’s careful not to let Anya see the stress of her job. This is so unlike her, and Clarke comes at her cautious, almost halting. “You’re being cruel,” she says, and Lexa flinches, very slightly. “You know I’m nervous about the rankings,” she continues, to make Lexa hunch in on herself a little. “And you said that to hurt me.”

Lexa’s shoulder’s slump. “Let’s go home.”

++

Lexa paces in the kitchen. “I’m fine,” she keeps saying, seething. “I’m fine.”

Clarke pours herself a drink. “Yeah, you seem real stable right now, emotionally.”

Lexa glowers at her. She advances a half step with her lip curled up. “Because you’re so mature, emotionally. In touch with your inner self. Excellent at self reflection, actualization, and communication.”

Clarke refuses to retreat. She keeps her eyes steady and reaches out, slow enough Lexa could move away if she truly wanted to. Lexa watches her, her face blank, and Clarke closes her hand on the back of Lexa’s neck. She waits two heartbeats, then shakes Lexa, gently, like a misbehaving puppy. 

The effect is immediate: Lexa goes limp in her hand and pitches forward, knees giving out. Clarke catches her and eases her back to lean on the stove, crowding into Lexa’s torso and wedging a knee between her legs. “What’s wrong,” she murmurs, presses her lips in a chaste kiss to just under the left side of Lexa’s jaw. “Talk to me.”

Lexa’s eyes squeeze shut. She whines, very low and almost silent, in the back of her throat. She shakes her head and tries to twist away even as her hips lift up and grind on Clarke’s leg. 

Clarke changes to a bite, at the hollow of Lexa’s throat. She sinks her teeth in until Lexa shudders and she feels Lexa’s hand on the back of her head, urging her for more pressure. She breaks off with a wet sucking noise and then nips, reproaching, up Lexa’s neck until they kiss. “Okay?” Clarke asks, against Lexa’s lips. 

Lexa sucks in a breath. She nods, then buries her face in Clarke’s chest. She trembles, once, then exhales slow and long and relaxes. “Clarke,” she says, almost mumbled. Her eyes are pleading.

Clarke slides her hand around until it grips the front of Lexa’s throat. She squeezes, firm but not crushing, just anchoring reassuring pressure. She can feel the flutter of Lexa’s pulse against her fingers, the slight flexing of her skin as she breathes quietly. “You know you can ask me for anything.”

Lexa twitches in her grasp. Her brow furrows and again, she almost flinches away. Clarke relaxes her grip and leans her forehead against Lexa’s. “My good girl,” she croons, low and soothing. “Baby, what do you need?”

Lexa jerks, her eyes flashing. Clarke steps back and Lexa sways towards her before whirling on her heel. “I’m tired,” she snaps, and storms down the hall. The bathroom closes with a slammed click and Clarke hears the lock flip.

++

Lexa crawls into bed almost an hour later, shower damp and hesitant. Clarke presses her down and swings her leg over Lexa’s hips, straddling her. “Tell me what you need.”

Lexa shudders. She tips her head back to expose her throat. “You,” she admits, her voice high and reedy. “Clarke, please.”

Clarke shushes her. She pets down Lexa’s sides, then slides her hands under Lexa’s shirt, tugging it off her gently, Lexa obediently raising her arms. Clarke tosses it aside and bends to suckle little marks into Lexa’s chest, knowing they’ll bruise up dark and pretty by the morning. “You’re gorgeous,” she says into Lexa’s sternum. She drags her teeth over Lexa’s heart and watches the goosebumps rise in her wake. “Pretty girl. Best girl.”

Lexa jerks under her. “No,” she whines, her eyes squeezing shut. 

Clarke pulls away. She sits on Lexa’s hips for a moment, watching Lexa’s chest heave and her face screw up and wondering why she can’t get this right. Lexa’s arm raises up and grips the bedframe above her head and she twists and Clarke rides the wave of her body and thinks oh, _oh_. She remembers how Lexa went limp as she shook her and how she made a lost noise when Clarke stopped biting her throat. She strokes down Lexa’s face and slips her thumb into Lexa’s mouth, pressing down on her tongue and moving up until she gags and goes limp. “Is this what you need, baby?”

Lexa’s teeth grip her knuckle briefly before releasing, and she goes pliant on the bed. She makes a sad noise. 

Clarke rolls off her and sits up against the headboard. “Come here,” she says, patting her lap. She puts a little steel in her voice. “Come here _now_.”

She knows she’s right when Lexa crawls into her lap face first, moving until she’s belly down with her hips on Clarke’s and her ass perched up. Lexa’s arm twists up until it’s bent with her hand on the small of her back, palm up. Clarke tugs Lexa’s pajama pants down until they hit the backs of her thighs. She links their fingers and spends a while tracing her nails through Lexa’s underwear, wandering from the inside of her slightly spread thighs up to the small of her back and the start of her spine and everywhere in between. She waits until Lexa’s trembling before the first smack, a gentle almost tentative one that still causes Lexa to jolt like she’s been struck by lightning. 

“Oh,” Lexa says, high and breathless. Her legs part as much as they can, still trapped in her pajama bottoms. 

Clarke teases at the elastic of her underwear, slipping under and then pulling it up to let it snap back. She keeps the rhythm off beat and random, enough that Lexa is surprised every time she gets another slap, and ratchets it up until Lexa is shifting and moaning and she’s sweating, her palm aching and red. She pauses to tease at Lexa’s clit through her underwear, pleased to find the fabric soaked through, drenched. “Talk to me.”

“Clarke,” Lexa says immediately, like it’s been trapped behind her teeth the entire time, “ _Clarke_.”

“Tell me,” Clarke coaxes, “tell me what you need.”

++

Sometimes Lexa teases Clarke about her favourite position because it’s missionary. Clarke loves being able to kiss Lexa with the easy arch of her back. She loves feeling Lexa’s back under her hands and the muscles rippling while Lexa fucks into her and how the ends of her hair get damp and tickle Clarke’s chest. 

But she’d be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate Lexa on all fours with her hips up and her face pressed into the mattress, panting wet and heavy while Clarke works into her with the strap on from behind. And she’d be struck with lightning on the spot if she said she didn’t enjoy the moment she manages to go hard and long enough that Lexa’s knees give out and she slumps down flat on her belly on the bed. 

She leans down and tugs at Lexa’s earlobe with her teeth. “Good girl,” she praises, and Lexa shudders, drooling into the pillow. Clarke thinks Lexa’s come three times, now, maybe four--she’d faltered during her own second orgasm and might have missed one. She braces her hands and her toes on the bed and fucks Lexa into the mattress, grunting slightly and biting at her shoulderblades. 

It’s another ten minutes before Lexa locks up under her one last time, trying to squeeze her legs together and unable to close them with Clarke’s knees holding them spread. “Please,” she gasps out. “Please.”

Clarke slows to a stop. When she pulls the strap on free Lexa cries out, feeble and hoarse. Her thighs are a wet slick mess and Clarke gathers it up on two fingers to ease it back into her, pausing to pump in and out and enjoy the way Lexa twitches weakly and the frictionless glide. “Are you done for the night?” she asks, almost detached. She flicks at Lexa’s clit and Lexa jerks. “I don’t think you are.” She waits, and when Lexa doesn’t respond she slaps the red cloudy bruises already forming on Lexa’s ass, hard enough Lexa yelps. 

“Green,” is all Lexa manages, and Clarke rewards her with a tug of her hair. 

++

Clarke doesn’t like to gag Lexa. She worries, a little, about not being able to understand her if Lexa needs something, or Lexa being too overwhelmed to use their hand signals. But mostly she likes hearing Lexa’s babbled noises. In the beginning she’d had to coax them out and not call attention to them lest she scare them away. It makes her feel soft and warm now when Lexa moans without prompting and begs in desperate little whispers without having to be asked; she adores the trust almost as much as she adores the ache in her thighs and core the next day. 

But there is something, she has to admit, about Lexa with a little spit on her chin and the wet fabric suck noises of her tongue and teeth working at the intrusion in her mouth. About the muffled sobbing and the way it compliments the creaks of the ropes keeping her hands up and how she twists in them. Clarke goes into the bathroom and washes her face and her thighs and goes to the bathroom, keeping the door open and her eyes and ears on Lexa writhing on the bed. She gets a clean set of sheets out from the bottom drawer of their dresser and sets it aside for later, then returns to the bed. 

Tears are spilling from Lexa’s eyes into her hair, and she’s gasping, her feet kicking. “Stop that,” Clarke tells her, pinching at her ribs. “Or I’ll tie your legs down too.”

Lexa goes still, except for the white clench of her fingers around the ropes at her wrists attaching them to the bedframe and the violent tremors working their way down her legs to her curled toes. Clarke slides onto the bed next to her and spends a while licking and kissing at Lexa’s throat and collarbones, before sliding down to rest her cheek on Lexa’s hip and watch the vibe buzz away at her clit. Lexa’s body jerks, then shudders, and Clarke gets a finger into her in time to feel the flutter of her orgasm. One more, Clarke thinks, and starts a slow easy scissor with two fingers, watching Lexa’s body cling to her as she draws out and slides back in, twisting her wrist the way Lexa likes it. 

Lexa is saying something now that Clarke think might be her name, followed by something that is most certainly ‘please’; Clarke listens close for any sign of a safeword and keeps her eyes on Lexa’s hands, but flicks the vibe up to high with her free hand and enjoys how Lexa’s eyes roll up to show the whites. 

++

Clarke slips the gag out and tosses it into the hamper. She wipes at Lexa’s mouth with a cloth and is cleaning up her thighs when Lexa stirs. “Please,” she mumbles, almost too weak and slurred to understand, and Clarke pauses. 

“More?” she asks, surprised. She checks the clock and frowns. “I don’t know, baby.”

“Clarke,” Lexa says. Her eyes flicker, pleading. 

“Okay,” Clarke says, rubbing Lexa’s chest and pinching gently at her left nipple. “I’ve got you.” She finds the smallest plug they have, just the size of one of her fingers, and slips it in, twisting to get it coated and wet and slick. Then she removes it to finish cleaning up. She slides the blunt slender tip of it to Lexa’s ass. “Deep breath,” she says, and slides it in nice and slow while Lexa’s eyes go wide and her breathing shallow. When she checks the placement one last time and pulls away Lexa is limp and quiet and watching her from barely slitted eyelids. She moves obediently when Clarke nudges her and Clarke makes the bed with fresh sheets around her, rolling her from one side to the other. 

She slips under the blanket and stretches, enjoying the pull of used and aching muscles. Lexa curls into her side and suckles at Clarke’s throat before nosing into her chest and smushing her face between Clarke’s breasts. Clarke plays with her hair and rubs her back and keeps their legs tangled. “Tomorrow you’re going to actually have to talk to me,” she says. Lexa huffs into her and then, slowly, nods her head. Clarke kisses her temple. They fall asleep tangled up and holding hands.

**Author's Note:**

> tell me what you think and catch me on tumblr @ feeltripping


End file.
